


What's in a Name?

by Craftnarok



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Confessions, M/M, and then sex, backstories, tipsy conversations in the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftnarok/pseuds/Craftnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some conversations in the dark between Flint and Silver, set during episode 3x09. They have a moment alone in the Maroon camp, after Mr Scott's death, and what begins as curiosity and sharing develops into rather a lot more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.

**Author's Note:**

> So it looks like we might be getting something like this in the upcoming season finale, which I'm buzzing with excitement about, but I'm too much of a whore for back-story sharing to let that stop me imagining this. Plus, there's less likely to be sweet gay love-making in actual canon, so someone has to provide. I'm also aware that I've shamelessly stolen the idea that Silver is half Portuguese from somewhere else, but I love it so much that I find it hard to imagine anything else now. If it was originally your idea and you want credit, please let me know!  
> Apologies for any grammatical errors. I'm not used to writing so much dialogue, and this turned into a bit of a beast, so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> Onwards.

“Where did you grow up?”

The question took Silver by surprise and, looking up from his half-drained cup of something unidentifiable and far too potent to be a good idea, he turned to face his captain. They were tucked away together in a quiet corner of the Maroon camp, having extricated themselves from the funerary rituals, which would no doubt last well into the night. They had paid their respects to Mr Scott, former quartermaster and right hand to the Guthries as they knew him, but it was for his people to see their king sent safely on to the next life, and they had begun to feel like intruders upon a secret sacred rite they had no business witnessing. 

“Why do you ask?” countered Silver. Despite his newly constructed alliance with Captain Flint and, dare he say it, their burgeoning friendship, obfuscating the details of his life was second nature to him and a difficult habit to break. One never knew when a lie would be necessary, or an embellishment of one’s own accomplishments, to achieve an end. In his experience, Silver had found that it was far easier to avoid being caught in a lie if one’s past was kept conveniently obscure. The smallest of inconsistencies, if noticed and remarked upon, could bring even a carefully constructed lie toppling down like a line of dominoes. 

“I don’t know really.” Flint replied quietly, looking down into his own almost empty cup. “I suppose I just realised how little I knew of Mr Scott. I didn’t even know his real name, and it seems wrong somehow to keep calling a man who built so much by the name imposed on him by those who thought to own him. I don’t know where he came from, who his family were, when he first arrived in the New World, or how he came to be so important to so many people. And it’s too late to ask him any of those questions now, but I realised I don’t know half of those things about you either, and it isn’t too late to ask you. Not yet, at any rate.”

“Maudlin.” Silver quipped. “Does drink always make you this way?”

Flint’s eyes came back up to meet his, and their intensity in the firelight made Silver feel utterly exposed in a way that made his skin prickle uncomfortably. He swallowed and glanced away.

“Bristol.” He said at last. “I grew up in Bristol, for the most part; hence my utterly ill-suited and short-lived career as a merchant sailor.”

“Sailing wasn’t in your blood then?” Flint replied. 

Silver huffed a soft laugh. “Oh, it was, in fact, but the sort of father who only appeared every few months or so until you were six, and occasionally when in his cups would call your mother by the name of one of the various other ‘wives’ he had littered across the world, wasn’t such an inspirational figure that I had any desire to follow in his footsteps.” Silver curled his lip, suddenly angered by his traitorous mouth, and quickly buried his face in his cup. That was the other reason for avoiding reminiscence; his childhood did not lend itself to sentimentality, and he found bitterness far too close to an honest emotion to allow himself to dwell on it. 

“I’m sorry.” Flint offered. 

“It’s hardly your fault.” Said Silver dismissively, and he attempted for some joviality. “Jesus, what the hell is in this booze? If I end up blind as well as an invalid I won’t be best pleased.” 

Flint’s mouth twitched in the approximation of a smile as he ran his hand over his beard, but Silver could tell his mind was still working over what he had been told, and he seemed to be ruminating on what question to ask next. Tit for tat then, thought Silver.

“Before you proceed with this little adventure into my past, as I know you have every intention of doing, I want to set some terms.” Silver interjected, before Flint could open his mouth again. Flint’s brow furrowed, but he waited to hear what more Silver had to say. “First off, I think it only fair that the man wrapped in more enigmas than a goddamn soothsayer offer some honest answers in return for each one I give you.” 

Flint narrowed his eyes, but Silver pressed on undeterred. “I’ll give you Bristol for free, but I want something in return for dredging up my useless fucking father. Secondly, as the man with two good legs, you can refill my cup before we go any further with this.”

The last was cheeky, and Silver knew it, but he was testing the waters of the situation and hoping he had read Flint’s mood right. After a pause, during which Silver may have held his breath, Flint cracked a genuine smile, albeit one of those smiles that could more rightly be described as something verging on feral. Oh God. This was a dangerous game, Silver thought. Knowing his captain better might help him to navigate the road ahead more effectively, but it was just as likely that it would be the seal that bound him to Flint once and for all. That in the face of the darkness that Flint had spoken of, understood intimately, and seemingly courted hourly, he would be powerless to extricate himself should he find himself following Flint right to the gates of hell. 

“Alright, deal. But useless fucking fathers are about as common as muck in this world, particularly when it comes to men who’ve found themselves scratching out a living at the arse-end of the Earth, so I’ll want a little more insight than that before I’ll tell you about my own useless fucking father in return.” Flint raised an eyebrow and lifted the cup from Silver’s hand, wandering off towards the centre of the camp in search of a refill. Just as Silver was wondering whether he shouldn’t tap into that not so long forgotten vein of self-preservation and find a way out of this situation, Flint materialised in front of him with a full bottle and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I asked for another cupful, not a whole damn bottle. If you think I’m getting shitfaced with you at a wake, then you’re going to be sadly disappointed.” Silver said, but Flint only smirked and handed Silver back his freshly filled cup, while sitting and filling his own. They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Flint spoke. 

“Go on then.” He prompted. 

“I’m not sure I remember agreeing to your demand.” Silver said. “Useless fucking fathers might be ten a penny, but it’s still something you didn’t know previously, and I told you about Bristol.”

“You said Bristol was freely given.” Said Flint.

“That still puts me one ahead.” Silver replied.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Bristol.” Wheedled Flint.

Silver narrowed his eyes and leaned in slightly towards Flint. “That is another question in disguise and I’m offended if you thought I wouldn’t notice.” 

Flint quirked that charming, frightening half-smile and fixed his eyes on Silvers’. He looked thoroughly amused by their new game, and Silver had to wonder when Flint had last been able to lower his guard enough to truly enjoy himself. Probably not since the unfortunate Mr Gates. Silver’s stomach lurched horribly at the reminder that he was putting himself in exactly the place where Mr Gates had stood, and Mrs Barlow had stood, and however many other people Flint had loved and laid his curse upon. Was that the price of earning this man’s trust? And, wait, did he really just think ‘people Flint had loved’? Because that was an angle that he had not yet stopped to fully consider. 

Flint was still looking at him, but appearing to take Silver’s silence as a challenge, rather than the loss of focus it was, he spoke first.

“My father was a carpenter’s mate in the Royal Navy.” He said. Silver allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.

“Cook, on a merchant ship. Apparently quite a good one.” He said in return. 

“You are joking?” Replied Flint. 

“I am not. Fuck of a lot of use it was to me. As I told you, he was rarely at home.”

Flint stared at Silver incredulously before he barked out a laugh of which no-one who knew of the fearsome pirate Captain Flint by reputation alone could have believed him capable. It was warm and genuine, and Silver couldn’t help but smile and shake his head in response. Flint took another draught from his cup, while still chuckling and looking out across the camp, and Silver took the moment to study Flint’s face unobserved. The years seemed to lift off him when he smiled. His eyes crinkled and his mouth, so often hard and cruel, softened. He bore the weight of the world with such broad, enduring shoulders that it was difficult to see the toll it took on him until the burden was lifted and he was once again just a man. 

“What was your father’s name?” Silver asked.

“Edward.” Said Flint. “Yours?” 

“John.” Silver replied.

“Not an inventive man then.” Flint said, watching Silver from the corner of his eye, a mischievous glint in his gaze.

“Oh, because James is such a creative choice of name.” Silver countered.

“Touché. John Silver?” Flint asked.

“No.” Silver said. 

“Ah.” Flint smirked. “More interesting.” 

“Quite. Edward Flint?” Said Silver, smiling back.

“Indeed not.” Said Flint.

“Well then. It seems as though we have plenty in common.” Silver said, drinking deeply from his cup, trying to calm the blood that was for some reason roaring in his ears. 

Flint was such a mystery to him, he felt in turns flushed and pleased with this new friendship, and then vulnerable and off-kilter. To be appraised with such naked intensity by those eyes that flashed green and blue fire left Silver feeling breathless as though he had just run a mile. Did Flint deliberately cultivate that look that could make men bare their souls to him if he so desired? Or was it a terrible gift bestowed upon him by some untrustworthy god? Silver didn’t know, but he couldn’t quite shake the low feeling of terror in his gut every time those eyes affixed on his. Even now, being so close to Flint felt like sharing a cage with a tamed beast; a creature of roiling emotions and fathomless depths of fury, wearing the face of a reasonable man. 

“Who raised you if not your father? Your mother?” Said Flint, bringing Silver out of his reverie with a start and pinning him in place with those goddamn eyes.

“Yes, my mother.” Silver replied, and the temptation to speak of the woman who had meant so much to him, but who nobody else remembered, was too much, and he eschewed the rules of the game in favour of offering more answers unprompted. “My father met her in Portugal, brought her back to England, got her pregnant and promptly fucked off. She had very little English when I was small, so I often took on the role of translator for her. She was a seamstress, a hell of a good one, so while the language barrier proved a challenge, her skills were just as sought after in England as they would have been anywhere else. Perhaps more so, given how exotic she seemed to the sort of people who rarely leave their own county.” Silver paused and stared down at his hands, both clasped round the cup in his lap. He could feel Flint’s gaze burning into the side of his face and he looked away for a moment to regain his bearings.

“What happened to her?” Flint asked quietly.

“She died.” Silver replied simply. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how little I’m getting out of you in return for my story.”

Flint smiled again, but there was a gentler edge to it this time. 

“What was her name?” He asked.

“Ines.” Silver said, and then after a pause he added “D’Silva.” In for a penny, in for a pound.

Flint nodded contemplatively. “Why Anglicise it?” He asked. 

“The war with Spain. Most people are too fucking stupid to tell one foreign sounding name from another, so I simply made life easier for myself, as I was always wont to do. D’Silva isn’t technically my real surname either, but I wasn’t about to use my bastard father’s, so it hardly mattered.” Silver said. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Replied Flint.

Silver gave him a withering look. “Don’t be obtuse, James, it doesn’t suit you.” He said, and he didn’t miss the way Flint blinked at the use of his first name. “You said your father wasn’t named Flint. Was it your mother’s name? Or did you simply pull it out of thin air?”

Flint paused minutely, appearing to weigh up his options, before sighing and looking back into the depths of his once again empty cup, which he was turning round and round in his hands. “Flint was more or less pulled out of thin air, yes. Flint…only came into being when I arrived in Nassau. It was a name from a story my grandfather told me when I was a child, and I offered it to Mr Gates in the full knowledge that I was about to close the door on the man I had been for my entire life until almost that moment. The man whose reputation I had built and then destroyed, along with…along with another’s.” Flint paused and swallowed, as though he had said more than he intended, but then he continued. “My old name was no use to me anymore, and it belonged to someone else. That man no longer exists; there’s only Captain Flint now.” 

A silence fell over them, as Silver digested what Flint had told him, the things he had shared that clearly John Silver was now the only other man on Earth privy to. Flint reached for the bottle and poured a third generous measure into his cup. For a moment Silver was tempted to reach out and stay his hand, but he thought better of it. Let the man have his drink, if it numbed some of the pain that clearly tormented him. And, selfishly, Silver hoped that a few more sips of this awful moonshine would send other secrets tumbling out of his captain’s mouth. He found though that he did not want to store them away for future use, for potential leverage should the situation arise, he simply wanted to know them and hold them safe. He suddenly understood that this whole conversation had been the natural progression of their earlier discussion about the dangers of allowing the darkness to swallow you whole. To confide in another person was to seek an anchor to hold you fast; someone who could reel you in should you go too far. It was what Madi had spoken of when Silver was alone with her in the camp, and it seemed Flint had chosen him for his confessor. Silver wasn’t sure whether he ought to feel frightened or privileged. Maybe both. He was, however, uncomfortably aware that despite Madi’s tacit offer to be his anchor, and her welcome concern for him, he had not been able to tell her the truth of his mental state following the incident with Mr Dufresne. She was strong, and clever, and kind, but he would not burden her with the sort of horrors that she could not possibly truly understand. Flint, though. Flint understood. 

He was so frightened of breaking the fragile spell that surrounded them, but he sensed that this was the point they had spent all this time reaching. Whether he was conscious of it or not, Flint’s curiosity about Silver’s past reflected mostly just how tired he was of being the sole custodian of his own. 

“Who were you?” Silver asked, so softly he thought Flint might not have heard him.

“Does it matter?” Flint replied. 

“It matters.” Silver said. “To deny one’s past to the world is one thing, but to deny it to oneself is the surest way to find yourself adrift and uncertain of how you came to be the man you are. A name is just a name, but the life you lived while wearing it means something.”

Still Flint said nothing, though Silver would take the lack of violent words or gestures pushing him away as a positive sign. Slowly he reached down to place his cup on the floor, and reached over to pull Flint’s cup from his unresisting fingers. Finally, Flint’s gaze rose to meet his and he looked as though he were trapped between two worlds; his long-hidden past brimming over to meet his present.

Silver held out his right hand, offering a handshake, which Flint, brow furrowing, accepted. 

“John Darby.” Said Silver. He gripped Flint’s warm, calloused palm firmly, anchoring him to this moment, and as he unconsciously rubbed his thumb across the knuckles on the back of the hand in his, Flint replied in barely more than a whisper, “James McGraw.”


	2. What's past is prologue.

Silver couldn’t say exactly when the shift in dynamic had happened, but somewhere along the way of their game Flint had relinquished control to Silver and allowed him to lead the discussion. It was something of a breakthrough, and despite the creeping itch at the corners of his eyes telling Silver he really ought to get some rest, he did not dare end this voyage of discovery before he had learned everything he could about the man beside him. There was much preparation to be done tomorrow, but this was not an atmosphere he knew how to recreate, therefore he had to make the most of it while it lasted. 

“You said the name Flint came from a story your grandfather told you as a boy.” Silver asked, handing Flint’s cup back to him and picking up his own. “Were you close to him?” 

“He raised me.” Flint answered. “I think I’ve already implied that Edward McGraw was not cut out to be a father. He wasn’t a bad man as such, but he didn’t know how to be a parent. My mother died when I was very young and my father had no intentions of leaving the Navy to care for an infant, so he left me to be raised by my mother’s father instead.”

Silver nodded carefully. “Where did your grandfather live?”

“In Padstow, in Cornwall. He was a fisherman. He thought I ought to learn to do what he did, and I did first learn the ropes of sailing from him, but I suppose a part of me always wondered what was so alluring about the Navy that my father would have chosen it over me. Curiosity got the better of me, and I joined up.”

“I must admit, I did wonder.” Said Silver. “You know you still hold yourself like a military man?”

Flint smiled softly. “Habits like that are difficult to break.” He said. 

“And you don’t sound like a Cornishman.” Silver prompted.

“Rather like you don’t sound Bristolian.” Flint replied, catching his eye. “Accents can say a lot, both true and untrue. I was always ambitious, and when one sets one’s sights on becoming a naval officer it tends to help if both your superiors and your subordinates don’t think you sound like an uneducated country bumpkin.”

Silver laughed softly. 

“I suppose I’ve always been lying about who I am, in one way or another.” Flint added cryptically.

“Don’t we all?” Silver replied. 

“Did you too then?” Flint said. “Alter the way you presented yourself to fit in somewhere, I mean.” 

“I did.” Said Silver. “A day in an orphanage will have you turning yourself inside out if it makes you less of an easy target. Three years was more than ample.”

“The St John’s Home for Poor Orphaned Boys, you said?” Flint said, his eyes travelling over Silver’s face, looking for a lie, or perhaps contemplating that what he already knew had in fact been the truth.

“I did. Good memory.” Silver smiled. “Even after all I’ve seen, I would still maintain that there are none on this Earth more cruel than young boys confined in close quarters. Vicious little bastards. I was never interested in fitting in, but I was happy not to stand out, so I changed the way I spoke, stopped using my mother’s native tongue, and learned to sit back and observe.”

Flint snorted, and turned to face Silver. “You, the quiet observer? Somehow I can’t imagine you doing anything quietly.”

Silver could feel his cheeks flushing at the unintended innuendo, but he pressed on lest the moment become awkward. “I can be plenty quiet when the need arises, thank you very much, as I think I have demonstrated on more than one occasion. Besides, I only said observe. I didn’t necessarily observe quietly. I managed to talk myself into about as many beatings as I talked myself out of. Frankly, I’m astonished I made it to adulthood with all my teeth still intact.”

Flint was staring at him with that inscrutable look on his face; the one that could say so many things and nothing at all. This one spoke of amusement, something that looked alarmingly like fondness, and an air of calculation that made Silver nervous. 

“What?” He asked when he couldn’t bear to be on the receiving end of that look any longer.

Flint’s eyebrows quirked up briefly, and he said “Somehow you manage to be both an open book and a complete fucking mystery at the same time.”

Silver stared back at him, a slightly incredulous smile playing at the corners of his lips. “That’s rather rich coming from you, Captain.”

Flint’s smile had gained a wolfish edge to it that Silver greatly mistrusted. He also realised that they were sitting closer together than he had realised, their shoulders unconsciously leaning in to each other. He might have put it down to the chill in the night air, had he been in the habit of lying to himself about such things. As it was, he sought around his mind for another question to ask before he found himself making a move he might regret. Best to tread carefully when sounding out a new…whatever this was. 

“You said you wanted to be an officer. Did you manage it?” Silver asked.

Flint nodded. “I did. Lieutenant. Who knows where I might have ended up, had things gone differently.”

“What happened?” Said Silver, sensing that this might just be the point at which Flint would begin to resist his questioning. “Why leave a promising career in the Royal Navy to become a pirate captain in Nassau?” 

Flint sighed, twisting his cup in his hands again; a nervous habit that said more than he might have liked. He seemed to be carefully weighing what he wanted to say in response, and Silver instinctively knew that he was getting close to the crux of what drove this impossible, maddening man; what past wrongs tormented him, as all men were tormented by something. The thought thrilled and terrified him. He realised his fingers were beginning to tremble, so he clasped them more tightly around his cup and waited. 

“I didn’t leave by choice.” Flint said finally. “I was dismissed. I told you, back when we were in that cage, that I had been responsible for founding the idea of universal pardons for the pirates of Nassau, along with Peter Ashe, Miranda, and her husband Lord Thomas Hamilton.” Flint paused, taking a deep breath, and he looked melancholy as he continued. “Thomas Hamilton was the greatest man I have ever known. He was fiercely intelligent, utterly kind, and hell-bent on making the world a better place at whatever cost. The pardons were his idea. He envisioned a future for Nassau where the men whom England would see hanged might return to honest labour, in exchange for their fair treatment, to make Nassau a prosperous and honest outpost of civilisation once more. He understood that the men who turned to piracy weren’t monsters; they were for the most part simply men for whom no better option existed, people to whom life had denied a fair choice. He sought to change the world for the better by offering forgiveness to those who wished it, and understanding to those who needed it. I never saw him judge another person unfairly. In fact, his own honesty and open mind might have made him naïve to some of the harsh realities of this world. I don’t think he ever quite understood that not everybody was capable of the same good that he was.” 

Flint fell once more into thought, and after a few minutes of silence Silver prompted him again. “What happened then? Clearly his idea can’t have been popular. And how did you end up living in Nassau with his wife?”

“You’re getting ahead of the story.” Flint said, not ungently. “No, the idea was not popular, but we four thought we could make it work anyway. Thomas’s zeal was infectious that way. Our strongest opponent was Lord Alfred Hamilton, Thomas’s father. To the end of my days I shall never understand how a man so filled with warmth and goodness was born to a man as cold and unforgiving as Alfred Hamilton. He saw in Thomas’s offers of forgiveness only weakness and the risk to the reputation of his family name should Thomas be called traitorous in return for offering to pardon traitors. So he set about to bring the plan to an end, and he succeeded. He…found a way to have me removed as Thomas’s liaison to the Admiralty; removed from service altogether and banished from London. He had his own son locked away and the rumour spread that Miranda and I had engaged in an affair that had ruined Thomas’s mind with grief. So we left England and came here and I attempted to find another way to realise Thomas’s dream of a stable and prosperous Nassau.” Flint exhaled slowly and Silver pretended not to hear the tremor in his breath. 

“You said he ‘found a way’?” Silver said. “What way? How does a man, even a Lord, manage to have his own son imprisoned or a Naval Lieutenant dismissed without good cause? Why would your superiors dismiss you over an alleged affair with a man’s wife?” 

Flint’s face grew pinched. “I didn’t say imprisoned, I said he was locked away for grief-induced madness.” He said, avoiding answering any of Silver’s questions.

“You also implied that that was not the truth of the situation. Why was he really locked up? Partially to stop the plan to implement the pardons, yes, but the last time I checked ‘a propensity for forgiveness’ was not a valid reason to have a man declared mad.” Silver offered a small smile, but it was not returned. “What aren’t you telling me, James?” He said gently. 

Flint’s eyes shot back up to his, flashing with that intense fire. “Don’t do that.” He said, his voice low and menacing. “Do not try to manipulate me by being familiar.”

Silver hastily wedged his empty cup between his knees and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m just trying to understand. I think you’ve only told me half the story.”

Flint narrowed his eyes at Silver, but he appeared to be lost in thought, deciding how to proceed. His hand made an abortive movement towards the bottle at his feet, and he instead placed his cup upside down over its neck. For a moment, Silver was worried Flint was going to just stand up and walk away into the night and that would be that. However, he clasped his hands together and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. When he started talking, it was in a murmur so soft that Silver had to mimic his stance to hear him clearly.

“The reason the situation in Charles Town unfolded as it did was because Miranda worked out that Peter Ashe had betrayed us all those years ago, when he had called himself our friend. He was the one who provided the information that allowed Alfred Hamilton to destroy our lives. Miranda and I had begun an affair, it's true, but Thomas was not grief-stricken by it. He condoned it.” Flint’s face twitched into a grimace, and he ran a hand over his beard. His lips worked silently for a few moments, as though he couldn’t force the words past his tongue, but finally he went on. “He…we…all three of us were involved together, in different ways. Miranda was his wife and my lover, but Thomas and I…what we shared was something I have not experienced at any other point in my life. Our relationship was honest and intimate and the best thing I have ever known, and they used it to tear our world apart because they thought it too loathsome to leave us to our happiness.” 

When Flint had finished talking he watched his hands twist together for a short moment, before he took a deep breath and looked up to study Silver’s face intently. Silver felt suddenly too close to him, but to move away now would be to lose some of the trust he had clearly gained in being privy to this admission. So instead, he held his ground and returned Flint’s gaze without wavering. He wanted to say that he was sorry, or that it was awful, but those seemed like such meaningless platitudes in the face of such a profound loss. 

“What happened to him in the end? Thomas Hamilton?” He settled on instead.

“He died.” Said Flint. 

“So all of this, everything you’ve done, has been because of him?” Silver said.

“It would be a lie to lay all of the things Captain Flint has done at Thomas’s door,” said Flint “but some of them, the best of them, yes.”

Silver couldn’t help but smile again. “You’re driven by such romantic notions, and I mean that in the kindest possible way. I never would have guessed.”

Flint said nothing in reply, but the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch, and Silver thought he looked as though the tension that had crept into his shoulders had melted away in the face of understanding, rather than judgement. 

Eventually Flint spoke again. “We should probably get some sleep.”

Silver looked out across the Maroon camp and saw that it was far quieter than it had been when they had started talking. Perhaps Flint was right. He was sad though, to bring their stolen moment of peace to an end. 

“You’re probably right, but I have enjoyed this. Should we both manage survive the upcoming battle we really ought to do it again.” Silver said, looking back at Flint and raising an eyebrow.

“I could live with that.” Flint replied, standing and offering Silver a hand up. Silver contemplated the proffered hand for a moment before accepting and being pulled to his feet. Well, foot. Flint let go, but placed his hand back on Silver’s elbow when the latter listed dangerously to the side. He wasn’t that drunk, but the uneven gait his iron leg gave him made coping with a tipsy loss of equilibrium something of a challenge. Were it anyone else, Silver might have shrugged them off, but the contact felt right after all they had shared. A warm hand was no more intimate than the stories they had traded, but it did feel like a progression of something that was not unwelcome in Silver’s eyes. 

Together, joined by that unacknowledged touch, they moved through the camp to the tents that had been set up for them. The men, those who were not part of the skeleton crew which remained on the Walrus, had been given space to set up a make-shift camp of their own a little way from the Maroon’s wooden dwellings. Silver found, as they walked in silence, that he had grown used to hearing the sea when he went to sleep, either caressing the hull of the ship or lapping at the shore. The sounds of the insects and creatures in the forest which surrounded them were deafening by comparison and he hoped that the alcohol that had facilitated so much this evening would also help him find sleep in this place. 

When they reached the mouth of Silver’s tent they turned to face each other. Flint made eye contact with him briefly before looking away. An air of tension stretched out in the quiet and Silver wondered again just what this thing was that was brewing between them. He had been happy to call it a partnership, the start of a friendship, had even been willing to acknowledge the ambiguity of his own feelings, but he felt as though something fundamental had shifted in the wake of Flint’s confession. What had been an abstract was now a potential, and as the silence between them drew on Silver was keenly aware that they had not reached a point of stability quite yet. 

“Well...” Silver said finally, and a shade of amusement crept back into Flint’s eyes.

“Eloquent as ever.” He said. 

“Yes, thank you.” Silver retorted. “Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, Mr Quartermaster.” Flint said in return, and with a barely perceptible squeeze of the elbow Silver had almost forgotten he was still holding he walked away into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to follow. It's well under way, and should be posted fairly soon.


	3. Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!

Stripping off to his shirt alone Silver sat on his bed mat and unstrapped the iron peg from what remained of his left leg. The perpetual ache was there, but the alcohol numbed it to a pleasant degree and he hadn’t spent the entire day on his feet, so it certainly felt a great deal better than it might have. With a sigh he laid the prosthetic on the floor and rubbed his fingers over his scar, then up to his knee. It was something he hadn’t anticipated, but the pain was not confined to the healing wound. The way he had to shift his gait to keep his balance made his knee and his hip ache. It was perhaps more of an irritation than the pain in his stump because, while he hoped that would largely disappear in time, he did not imagine the strain caused by his uneven stance was likely to improve. Digging his fingers into his hip he tried to work out some of the tension there and stretch the muscles of his thigh. They twinged in protest, but he persisted, and eventually they relaxed somewhat. With a sigh, he lay down on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes with a groan as the world span dizzyingly around him. He pulled the blanket over his legs and rested his palms on his stomach, staring resolutely at the wooden strut overhead in an attempt to ground himself enough to stop the feeling of swaying. One would think spending weeks sleeping in a hammock at sea would be useful preparation for such a feeling, Silver thought to himself, but somehow this was a different sensation. Not much chance of sleep any time soon then. 

Silver’s mind drifted back to the conversation he and Flint had shared. So much of the man now seemed to make sense, and yet he was still one of the most unfathomable people Silver had ever met. Most men were fairly straightforward in their motivations and desires, although granted most men also seemed incapable of inducing their minds to anything approaching intelligent thought. It had always been an easily exploited convenience to Silver just how effortlessly he could run rings around most of the people he met, but it did make for rather dull conversations. Flint, however, was astute, quick-witted, and deft at achieving his aims; but he was also as changeable as the sea and far more dangerous. He was like a force of nature, and there was an undeniable pull of fascination which Silver found himself helpless to resist. Was this how it had happened with the others?

Somehow, now he knew the story of Thomas Hamilton, it seemed the most obvious thing in the world that the rage which seemed to perpetually simmer within Flint was born of love. What could motivate a man who felt things so deeply more than the tragedy of a broken heart? As the loss of Miranda had driven him further into the darkness he courted, so the loss of Thomas had begun it. This person of violence and obstinacy must always have existed within him, but that he had tried so hard to be seen as something other than a villain implied that the fact that once someone had seen the best in him, and had shown him the best of himself, made him more than anything in the world want that feeling back. Silver felt unbearably sad for him, despite all he had done that no reasonable man would easily forgive. Silver had never much cared what anyone thought of him, but the idea of all the world calling you a monster when all you wanted was to be a force for good sounded like the sort of torture that ought to be reserved for hell. He had said as much to Billy when his mind railed against Flint in the Doldrums, but he hadn’t realised just how right he was. 

The sounds of the forest around the camp continued unabated, but Silver found that as the minutes dragged on and his mind wandered whilst sleep eluded him they started to fade into a background hum that made the night feel strangely close and safe. A crack of a twig outside his tent made him jump and he squinted through the gloom at the opening, his heart pounding. The moon was bright, but even so he couldn’t see much until the fabric was pulled aside and a familiar silhouette stood stooped in the doorway. 

“Hello.” Said Silver, cautiously. “I thought you'd retired to bed as well.”

“I had.” Flint replied. “But I couldn’t sleep. May I come in?”

“You may.” Silver said.

“I didn’t wake you did I?” Flint asked, as he lowered the fabric door closed again behind him and sat by the edge of Silver’s bed. 

“No. I’ve been lying awake as well. Whatever was in that drink made the world tilt on its axis a little more than I anticipated and my mind wouldn’t quieten down besides.” Silver said, rolling onto his side to face him. 

“Indeed.” Flint said. He looked as though he didn’t quite know how he had ended up where he was, and he twisted his fingers together in his lap in agitation.

“Are you alright?” Silver asked. He hoped Flint would see it for the mirror it was of the question he had asked Silver that night after the incident at the tavern. 

A small smile crept onto Flint’s face briefly, just visible in the darkness of the tent, and he looked up to make eye contact with Silver. “I am. I think I’m more alright than I have been in a long time, if that doesn’t sound perverse given the situation we’re in. I have a purpose and direction. And I no longer feel quite so alone.”

Silver wasn’t sure what to say to that, other than an honest “I’m glad.”

A moment passed where Flint looked back down to his hands in his lap and Silver lay quietly turning over a thought in his mind before he decided ‘to hell with it’. Slowly he reached out and lifted the corner of the blanket in invitation, and oh god how he hoped he hadn’t read the signs wrong. But Flint was here in his tent in the middle of the night for seemingly no other reason than he wanted to be. Surely it was the only conclusion, on top of everything else that had passed between them. He could feel his pulse in his throat and the roaring in his ears drowned out the sound of insects beyond the walls of his tent, but he stuck to his guns and waited with the unspoken question left hanging in the air. Flint’s fingers twitched and he looked into Silver’s eyes once more, scouring the depths of his soul, or so it felt, and leaving him feeling utterly naked. Then Flint unfolded his legs from beneath him and took the corner of the blanket from Silver’s fingers, situating himself under it as Silver shuffled backwards, and rested his head on one end of the balled up coat that served as a make-shift pillow. 

“Well then.” Silver whispered. “This is a turn up for the books.”

Flint simply looked at him, close enough that Silver could see his eyes shifting left and right to look at both of his own. Their breaths were mingled between them and Silver could feel the heat radiating off Flint’s body. He became suddenly aware that his arm was lying awkwardly on top of his side, as Flint was occupying the space it had previously, and he opened and closed his fist in a nervous gesture. Flint seemed in no hurry to finish his scrutiny of Silver’s face, but the heat and the suspense compelled Silver to broach the short divide between them. He reached out and placed his hand on Flint’s bicep, cautiously sliding it up over his shoulder and onto his chest, just below his throat, where the top of his shirt lay open. Watching the progress of his hand gave him an excuse to look away from Flint’s intense gaze, but when he glanced back those eyes were still on him. 

“Did anyone ever tell you that you stare far more than is polite?” Silver murmured, but he softened the words with a smile. “It’s very rude you know.”

“My apologies.” Flint whispered, continuing to watch Silver’s face without real contrition. 

“It’s fine.” Silver replied. He looked back at his hand as he lifted his thumb so that the back of his nail brushed through the bottom of Flint’s beard. Taking a breath he flicked his eyes back to Flint’s and rested his palm on his jaw, thumb smoothing the patch of skin between his bottom lip and his beard. It was soft. Flint’s eyes fell shut for a few seconds and when he opened them he reached up with his own hand to feel for the tie in Silver’s hair. He pulled it loose and spread the thick locks through his hand, watching the way the curls caught between his fingers. 

“I had my hair almost as long as this, once upon a time.” He said. 

“Yes?” Said Silver, stroking Flint’s beard between his thumb and forefinger, and having to make do with imagining the rich burnt orange colour of the hair there.

“Yes.” Flint said. “When I was still a Lieutenant. I cut it short when we arrived in Nassau. Or rather, Miranda did.”

Silver hummed in response. “Not that I’m averse to this new look,” he said, smoothing his hand over Flint’s scalp, “But I did rather like the way you had it when I first knew you.”

Flint smiled softly and quirked his eyebrows. “Perhaps one day, when all this is over, I might be persuaded to grow it back.” He said. 

He tucked Silver’s thick dark hair behind his ear and ran his fingers along his jawline, feeling the surprising softness of the beard there. Resting his fingertips beneath Silver’s chin he smoothed his thumb across his lips, before moving his own face forwards agonisingly slowly. He paused when their mouths were barely a hairsbreadth apart. 

“Please.” Silver breathed, and he pushed forward and closed the gap between them. 

It was a gentle kiss; tentative and slow, but Silver revelled in the feeling of it. Flint’s mouth was hot and soft, and the scratch of his beard on Silver’s lips and tongue was more arousing than he could ever have imagined. His stomach lurched with the rush of it and he realised that this was something he had wanted for longer than he cared to admit. This felt like the natural resolution of everything they had experienced together and, although it was surprising and heady, Silver felt as though they were finally on an even keel with each other. 

Flint’s hand slid down Silver’s side until he reached the bottom of his shirt and he slid his fingers under it, breaking off the kiss, asking silent permission with his eyes. Silver nodded, and Flint pressed forwards to kiss him again, while he ran his hand back up Silver’s side beneath the fabric. His palm felt hot against Silver’s skin and he fisted Flint’s shirt in his own hands in response. He was very aware of his own nakedness in comparison to Flint, who still wore his breeches, although his shins and feet were bare. Compelled to take back some ownership of the situation Silver reached down to untuck Flint’s shirt, curl one hand around his hip and lie the other flat against his belly. He could feel the soft hair there and he bent his fingers so that his blunt nails scratched through it. Flint sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away from Silver’s mouth, his hand stalling on his side, but his thumb continued to skitter across Silver’s ribs as he breathed heavily with his eyes closed. When he reopened them he dug his fingers lightly into Silver’s skin and said “This…if we do this, there’s no going back. We’ll still have to meet what’s coming, but things between us will be changed forever.”

“They’re already changed.” Silver breathed, his voice barely more than a low rumble in his chest. “There’s no going back now. And even if there was, I don’t want to. Do you?” 

“I don’t.” Flint replied, leaning his forehead against Silver’s briefly, before he shifted back and moved to pull Silver’s shirt over his head. It took some shuffling, lying on their sides as they were, but Silver managed to wriggle out of his shirt and, as he threw it over Flint’s head to hit the wall of the tent he reached to pull Flint’s shirt off as well. Once they were both bare-chested, Silver laid his palms flat against Flint’s stomach, his fingers splayed, holding off the inevitable a moment longer as he willed his heart to slow its hammering rhythm. 

“Are you alright?” Flint asked, echoing those fateful words one more time.

“Yes.” Silver replied. “Just…taking a moment at the edge of the precipice.” He took one long, shuddering breath and slid his hands down to touch the buttons on Flint’s breeches. When he looked up again, Flint’s eyes were once more fixed on his, as they seemed powerless to focus anywhere else as of late. Silver watched him closely as he popped the first button open, but Flint only breathed steadily, one hand sliding back up to Silver’s ribcage, the other lying between them with the backs of his curled fingers resting on the skin just below Silver’s naval. Perhaps he was all too aware, even in this moment, of the curse of death which seemed to cling to him, Silver thought. He was allowing Silver to damn himself, so that perhaps he might assuage some of the guilt that would come to choke him if the worst should happen. 

Silver undid another button, and then a third, before he pushed gently at the fabric against Flint’s hips. Finally Flint moved to help, sliding the fabric down this thighs and pulling one leg free after the other. He sent the breeches over his shoulder in the same direction Silver’s shirt had been unceremoniously flung, and it earned him a smile, before he wrapped his arm around Silver’s back, tucked his hand under his waist, and pulled him close; sliding him across the bed as though he weighed nothing at all. Silver couldn’t help but gasp at their new proximity, and almost without thinking he lifted his ruined left leg so that his knee crooked over Flint’s thigh. There was no mistaking now the feeling of Flint’s hot, hard length pressed against his stomach, nor his own answering in kind, and in the face of that combined with the continued scrutiny Silver felt desperate to bury himself in a kiss to punctuate the moment and quiet the clamouring in his mind. 

As though he could read his thoughts, and at this point Silver would not be entirely surprised, Flint leant forwards at the same time as he did, and their mouths joined again, deeper and more eager than before. Flint’s arm stayed wrapped around him, taut as coiled rope, and his other hand slid up between them to rest at the base of Silver’s throat. His fingers on one side, his thumb stretched across to the other, the touch was powerful, possessive, and not altogether unpleasant. Silver pushed their bodies together harder, his hand on the small of Flint’s back and the latch of his knee providing leverage as he began to rock them gently together. The soft scratch of Flint’s chest hair against his own smooth skin set him shivering. Words fought to tumble out of his mouth, but the purity of the moment, and not a small amount of wounded pride at the earlier implication that he could not help but let his mouth run away with him, kept Silver silent. But then, to his surprise, it was Flint who broke away from the kiss and spoke in a hushed and desperate voice.

“I’ve wanted this for such a long time.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to Silver’s again and rocking harder up against him. “Even before, when I hated you, when we fought, I had dreams of this. But I was frightened about what it would mean. I was frightened that I would drag you down with me and someone else would have been ruined because they had had the misfortune to know me.”

“Shh.” Silver murmured. “It’s alright. I’m here. I want this.” He slid his hand up Flint’s back until it cradled his head, pulling him back into a kiss full of teeth and longing, and he wormed his other hand between their bodies until it was wrapped around both of them. Flint gasped into his mouth as he tugged gently, working them towards the edge, and after a few minutes punctuated only by heavy breaths and soft keening he felt fingers twist themselves into his hair as Flint came between them with a quiet moan. Silver stroked Flint through it, before letting his cock slide free and continuing to work his own. But then Flint was kissing him again with an almost agonising tenderness, fingers still full of curls, and he reached down with his other hand to cover Silver’s fist and help him to his own release. 

In the haze of the afterglow, they breathed together with their brows touching, Silver pulling the blanket up to cover them. He reached over Flint, feeling around for a cloth he knew lay somewhere near a bowl filled with water for cleaning his leg. When he found it he used it to wipe off his hand, then Flint’s, and the mat between them, before he threw it back onto the floor. He shuffled himself back down into a comfortable position, face still only inches away from Flint’s, and he regarded his expression with care, looking for any signs of regret or anxiety that might cause him to up and leave, but he found none. Flint was blinking slowly, more calm and relaxed than he had ever seen him, his fingers tracing patterns against the smooth skin of Silver’s stomach. 

“Will you stay?” Silver said. 

“It probably isn’t a good idea to let the men see me leaving your tent in the morning. Who knows how they’ll take it.” Flint replied.

Silver nodded, but he narrowed his eyes and slid his face closer to Flint’s again. “You’re likely right.” He said. “However, in this moment I’m inclined to say ‘fuck the men’.”

Flint chewed on his lip and smiled. “Most unprofessional, Mr Quartermaster.” He said.

“Indeed.” Silver replied. “I am rather new to the post though, Captain. I think I’m allowed to make one or two irregular decisions.”

He lifted his hand to stroke the side of Flint’s face, running the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone, and then he slid his arm around his back to hold him close. Tomorrow there was much to do, and the looming threat of this war that they had courted would only grow more imminent. For now though, in the quiet peace of this bed, there was a moment of calm before the storm, and Silver would be damned if he would let it end a second sooner than it had to.

“Go to sleep, James.” He whispered, and for once Flint did as he was bidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first ever foray into sex. It's trickier to write than I imagined. Hopefully it came out believable and sounding organic.


End file.
